Coming to Terms
by Kaits1789
Summary: WARNING: LMR SPOILERS! When Preston Burke is told he will never operate again, what runs through his mind? OneShot


**Disclaimer: **_I do not own the characters of Grey's Anatomy,_ _The basic storylines, or anything from the show. They belong to the wonder Shonda Rhimes and all ABC involved peoples. While I love them greatly, I borrow them for enjoyment and make no money off of their use. I claim no relation to the cast and/or crew of this AMAZING television show. _

**A/N: **Now that the formalities are over with…I'm still working on _Bless the Broken Road, _but I needed to clear my head after a bad night. So this is the result of late night pizza, little sleep, and feeling pretty bad about myself. Reviews and criticism welcome – as always. It's a oneshot – I guarantee, no additions to this little thing…

Without further ado…

**Coming to Terms**

It was cold, so very cold. That was the only feeling that he could comprehend as his colleague stood over him with the news, "I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you. I wish I could have done more, you know that."

"I do know that, Shepherd," His voice was steady, calm. However, he didn't feel that way. He felt reality slipping away as he laid his head back into the hospital pillow. The whimpy, pathetic, white ball of fake fluff that was supposed to be comfortable was doing absolutely nothing for the man's ability to rest.

"If there are no other questions," The dark haired neurosurgeon gave a moment for his charge to speak, "then I'll be on my way. If you need anything, have a nurse page me. Again, I'm very, very sorry."

He watched the doctor walk out of the incredibly small private hospital room. As soon as the door was shut, he let his guard down. Salty tears burned at the corners of his eyes and he fought to keep them in. He was Preston Burke, after all. Preston Burke did not cry. Preston Burke was calm, cool and collected. He was a surgeon – a damn good surgeon – who would no longer be able to practice his craft. Preston Burke was no longer a whole person.

There were options, he told himself. However, practicing general medicine wasn't as good as being a surgeon. A widely known, skilled, and requested cardiothoracic surgeon was his life. His life was lost because he'd come back to the hospital to be certain that Dr. Isobel Stevens hadn't killed one of his patients.

Isobel Stevens. It was a name, nothing more, nothing less. However, it was the name of a person. It was the name of a person who cost him his career – his life. The blonde, ex-model, who called herself a physician, had not only killed a patient, but ruined his life, and if he had anything to say about it, she would not be practicing medicine much longer. Did she even realize the damage she had caused? The man doubted so.

A single tear cascaded down his left cheek. Refusing to let any others fall, his mind quickly began to get angry. He was angry with Stevens for thinking she could be a doctor. The girl always got too attached. Even more than Stevens, though, the man was mad at Miranda Bailey. How could a resident allow a female intern, who had a more than professional relationship with a transplant patient, prepare said man for surgery. Why would anyone be that stupid?

In a fit of uncontrollable rage, his good arm rose from its perch and then hit the hospital bed with a loud _thunk_, ending up in a resting position by his side. He glanced at the other hand and held it out – extending all five fingers. It still shook. He clenched the fist, willing the tremors to cease. Yet, they didn't go away. No, he didn't need to be angry with Bailey. If it hadn't been for Shepherd's lousy operating skills, there was a very good chance the tremors wouldn't be an issue and he would be back to surgery in a short period of time.

Yes, that was it. Derek Shepherd was the person to blame. Stevens was too young and in love to know better, Bailey was in a tough spot with the shootings and Karev being away, but the neurosurgeon was supposed to be one of the most respected surgeons on either coast. Nonetheless, he couldn't handle the surgery that could cost a colleague their entire career. Pathetic is what that was. It could be described no other way.

Despite Burke's anger and resent, he was certain that the whole mess being his doctor's fault was not the case. It was no one's fault. There was no one to blame. Preston was aware of that; liability for this wasn't something he could place on another's head. It happened – life happened. This was all part of some unknown road map that would be followed until his death. It was unfortunate – but true. Even a man as profoundly respected as Preston Burke had to place some belief in fate.

_Well, if this is fate, then it really sucks, _He told himself harshly. He had never been one for saying that something was uncontrollable. He was a surgeon, for God's sake. If anything, he was supposed to hold onto the scalpel and control someone's destiny. Yet, lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by cream colored walls and the buzzing of different machines didn't feel much like control. _That grass is definitely not greener on the other side, _he thought.

The other side was a scary concept. What was the other side of being a well-known surgeon? He didn't want to find out, because that would mean losing control. Preston Burke always had control. He kept his emotions in check, his tongue in line, and his hands steady.

What if that was all gone? He was slowly losing everything. He couldn't remain collected, it was nearly impossible anymore. Everything was lost – gone. He felt deserted. Who did he have with him? He'd been a loner his whole life. It was simple, don't depend on anyone else. Yet, his life was now controlled by doctors and medicines. He had to lean on something, did he not? But could leaning on something – someone – be detrimental to what he had going for him? He was a good person, yes, but not one who counted on others to pick up his pieces.

It couldn't be true, he decided. This couldn't be the end of his surgical career. He knew it would happen, eventually, but Burke had always assumed he would hang up his scrub cap for the last time when he was old and wrinkled. The assumption had always been that it would be over when the fat lady sang and he had done all he could. It was too soon. This cardiothoracic surgeon couldn't be done; it was too soon for him to be down and out.

"Too young," He whispered softly. "I'm just too young."

With that, the broken man lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by cream walls broke down and cried like a baby. He was unaware of anyone being nearby, any witnesses, which calmed him some. Tears fell down his cheeks and whimpers escaped his lips until there was no more energy to waste upon such pensive activities. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest, for just a moment, until he felt someone kiss his forehead gently and slip a delicate, small hand into his own larger, shaking one.

He would know that rugged, yet gentle touch anywhere. He loved her. He was Preston Burke, and he was completely and totally in love with one person. He opened his eyes slowly, revealing a red-tinged, puffy exterior. She offered her best caring girlfriend smile – one that had improved immensely over his days in the hospital.

"I love you," She whispered soothingly.

Finally giving in to the things he knew he couldn't handle, Preston Burke opened his mouth and spoke cautiously, "I need you. I need help."

Yang's face was covered quickly with confusion followed by relief. She placed her other hand over the top of his trembling one, cupping it firmly, and answered him, "You'll always have me here. I promise."

Visibly relaxing at the sound of her voice, she took a seat next to the man she loved and started speaking. She told him about her day – early rounds, getting the best patient, a premature baby boy with Addison Montgomery-Shepherd, and then coming to see him. She spoke in a gentle voice, knowing he needed to feel as in-the-loop as possible.

He listened attentively until his eyelids began to droop. Despite his best efforts, sleep was overcoming his weary body. Cristina kept talking and rubbing his hand until she heard his breaths even out and knew, for certain, that he was finally asleep.

He was Preston Burke, and, no matter how unlikely it seemed, he would be okay.

_fine_

**A/N: **Wowsah…I like parts, I don't like parts, and I, as always, am my own worst critic. So please, reviews welcome…criticism appreciated…flames, will be laughed at because I like parts of this for once! Thanks for reading…Let me know what you think! I'm not so sure I did Burke justice…or Cristina…but I tried, really hard. This is my first time delving into Preston's character…so it was a new experience for me. Thanks again!


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